Yullen Week 2012
by SasuSakuisforalways
Summary: It's the most wonderful time of the year! Yes-sir-rie! It's Yullen week! So, just for you, a collection of one shots and ficlets to celebrate the season! Content may vary xD
1. Chapter 1

Title: Antics of a Crazy Man

Pairing: Yullen

Rating: T

Theme: Off the Maps

Day: 1

Warning: Shounen-ai; colorful vocabulary of angry swordsman with very sharp katana

Words: 5,495

Allen fidgeted uneasily, a knot forming in his stomach. "Well crap," the white-haired exorcist muttered quietly.

Needless to say, being bound to a chair, gagged, blindfolded, and transported to god-knows-where was not Allen's idea of a good day.

You see, a certain beret-loving, Chinese, sister-complex, caffeine addict firmly believed in all of his irrational, convoluted schemes. Chanced by divine inspiration, Komui decided that sending Allen and Kanda on a mission together was an_ inspired_ idea…

But allow me to back up and explain exactly how it was that poor, cursed Allen Walker came to be stranded in a tiny, off-the-maps village in southern Italy, tied to a crudely crafted, wooden chair (splinters jabbed into the back of Allen's hands), and blindfolded with a strip of black cotton.

Exactly five minutes before four-thirty in the morning, Allen Walker's faithful golem Timcampy roused the boy from his sleep with a not-so-playful nip at the boy's right hand.

Allen jerked awake, hissing in pain, and examined the slightly inflamed injury his golem had so nonchalantly dealt him.

"What was that for, Tim?" The white-haired boy whined, leaping out of bed to pursue the golden orb that darted around the room, evading all attempts of capture. "Come back here!"

Agitated, Allen scrambled back onto the unmade tangle of sheets and pillows and launched himself at the golem, just in time for a flame-haired, hammer wielding, junior Bookman to burst in enthusiastically and collide with the younger boy head on, sending them both to the floor with an audible thud.

"Ouch," Allen grumbled, trying to pick himself back up. "You could have knocked, Lavi."

"What were you doing in here anyways?" The red-head almost laughed, pushing himself into a sitting position as he ran an elegant hand through his fiery, red locks.

In response, the white haired boy produced a sour, pouting face. "Tim bit me, and I was trying to catch him," Allen explained, with a disgruntled sigh.

"Sounds like you're having a good morning," Lavi hummed cheerfully.

"Good is not the word I would use to describe it," the parasitic exorcist mumbled as he got back to his feet, massaging a very painful bruise flowering on his left shoulder. "I think I pulled something…"

"Lemme see," the rabbit offered quickly. "Shirt off," the redhead ordered, a smirk creeping to his lips.

"Pardon?"

The older sighed, stepping over to 'assist' the white-haired boy. "How am I supposed to help you if I can't see your shoulder, Moyashi-chan?" Practiced fingers slid the nightshirt effortlessly from the boy's small frame and, in one swift, fluid motion, collapsed the oxford cotton garment into a perfect square and placed it on the corner of the small bed.

A light dusting of pink flitted across the silver-eyed boy's perfect, pale cheeks. Hesitantly, Allen opened his mouth to voice something but, feeling rather awkward, closed it again.

"Hmm." A pair of hands traced over Allen's shoulder blade gently. "It hurts here, right?" The older applied light pressure to indicate where he was referring to, causing the younger exorcist to grunt in pain.

"Yeah."

"Alright. This'll hurt for a second, 'kay?" Without giving the boy time to respond, Lavi jerked the silverettes's shoulder back and pressed down.

"Ah!" Bones gave a snap as they settled back into proper alignment, and the sharp pain faded, leaving only mild soreness in its wake.

"Better?" The silver-eyed exorcist rolled his shoulder a few times to test it out, smiling happily.

"Mhm."

"Anywhere else sore?" The rabbit grinned deviously, hands returning to wash over Allen's chest and abdomen, massaging nameless shapes into the boy's milky–white skin.

"L-Lavi?" Allen stuttered, flushing a deep red as the junior Bookman's lips made contact with the back of his neck.

"Oi, you could at least shut the damned door, Usagi," a cold, disgusted voice growled. No, not just any clearly repulsed voice, _Kanda Yuu's _voice.

"K-Kanda—" Allen's cheeks welcomed a furious blush, glimpsing the _gorgeous_—_attractive. Anyone would say he's attractive, right? So I just find him…attractive…That is a lie_—swordsman standing in his doorway. Without a thought, Allen adjusted his facial expression into a silent plea, answered—_wait, really?—_by a streak of silver metal and an: "Out. Now, Rabbit."

Nervous laughter accompanied the redhead back through vacant door frame.

"Moyashi…" The swordsman's lips collided with Allen's, pressing firmly and moving with a sureness that better suited the womanizing General Cross than a moody swordsman with no experience. Allen's eyes slipped closed, a healthy rose claiming his cheeks as he began to kiss back.

And then Kanda pulled away abruptly and disappeared out the door before the boy's eyelids could slide open again.

At first, the Japanese man's behavior seemed fairly normal; however, after five minutes elapsed without a single insult passing between samurai and Moyashi, it became strikingly apparent to Lenalee that something was seriously off.

"Did something happen between you two?" The Chinese girl inquired, eyes meeting the swordsman's. He ignored her question, bringing another mouthful of noodles to his lips. Sighing, the dark boots' accommodator turned to Allen, who offered no more assistance than Kanda.

"Tell me!" She commanded. Reluctantly, the white haired boy opened his mouth to speak, but, intercepted by a murderous glare, promptly pressed his lips shut again. "Brother! Allen touched my—"

The blood drained from Allen's face.

"I'll tell!" He hissed, cursing Komui silently. "Just not here," the boy added with a tentative glance towards a furious looking Kanda.

Lenalee smiled, quite pleased with herself, and returned to her pile of strawberry covered waffles.

Five minutes later, Allen finished his mountain of food, despite having lost his appetite due to the unsettlingly fierce gaze that logged every tiny movement the boy made.

Uneasiness clearly visible on his face, the white-haired exorcist climbed out of his seat, cleared his dishes, and—reluctantly—followed a smirking, Chinese exorcist out of the dining hall, a pair of cobalt eyes tracking the boy's every step.

"So what's wrong," the Chinese girl inquired, closing her door behind them.

"Why do you want to know?" Allen asked with a sigh, sinking down onto the small bed.

"Because something obviously happened between you two!" She exclaimed.

Allen flopped down onto his back, covering his eyes with a sleeved arm. "What difference does it make," the boy muttered, miserably, causing the small girl to wince.

"_Hey Kanda?" No answer. Allen sat down across from the raven-haired man, unceremoniously.  
"BaKanda, it's rude to ignore people."_

"_Che." Allen paused a moment, hesitant to continue. _

_Curiosity got the last word. "Why did you kiss me?" The response came much faster than the silverette had anticipated. _

"_I don't have to explain myself to a brat like you." _

"Whatever it is," Lenalee began, gently, "you can tell me. I don't know if I can help, but I'll try." The boy took another deep breath before propping himself back up, eyes turned towards the floor.

"Well…" Lying was not an option; Allen was a terrible liar, and he desperately wanted to leave out the first part of the story, but without it, the situation took on an entirely different meaning. _Damn the sister-complex supervisor_, Allen thought bitterly. "It's kind of a long story." Nothing indicated that this statement had dissuaded her. It probably hadn't been worth the effort. Allen sighed again. "Tim bit me this morning, so I ran after him and ended up jumping off the bed and Lavi walked in out of nowhere and crashed into me and we both ended up on the floor and my shoulder really hurt, so Lavi said he'd fix it for me—he did...and then he…" Allen's face went tomato-red.

"He what?" The girl followed. The white-haired boy drew in a nervous breath, eyes darting towards the door as he weighed the odds of escaping without getting caught by either Lenalee or a Kamlin. They were slim. Very slim.

"He t-touched me and k-kissed my neck," Allen murmured almost inaudibly. "And then Kanda walked in and yelled at Lavi to get out—well, it was more like a growl—but he didn't use any filthy words! And then he kissed me! But it wasn't rough or angry—I can't use the word gentle to describe it because Kanda isn't gentle—but it felt good! And then he left and at breakfast I asked him why he kissed me and he wouldn't answer and then I bothered him and he told me that he didn't have to explain himself to a brat like me!" By the end of his story, Allen had leapt from the bed and begun pacing back and forth hysterically and with the last word, he collapsed back on to the edge of the bed, confused and exhausted. _It doesn't make any sense!_

Lenalee remained silent as she processed all of what the boy had just confessed, a smile spreading across her angelic lips.

Plagued by the lack of response, Allen turned his eyes to meet the girl's face with wide eyes.  
"You have nothing to worry about," she reassured the boy, pulling him into a tight hug. "Kanda just isn't very good at expressing himself."

And then Allen shot her the fateful, disbelieving look that had set the entire thing into motion. Gears cranked into action. "I promise," the Chinese girl smiled. "You'll see." Her questions for Lavi could wait until later.

A grand total of twelve and a half minutes later, Komui sent Allen notice of summoning via snarling-bastard-samurai.

"Oi, Moyahsi!" _As if I can't hear him pounding the bloody door down. Arse._

"I'm coming, BaKanda, so bloody calm down already!" Rolling his eyes, Allen pulled the door open. "What?" Kanda glared down at the younger, clicked his tongue, and continued down the hall, leaving Allen in the door-frame.  
Kanda allowed a few moments of his own footsteps to pass before calling out: "Mission briefing, idiot," not bothering see if the boy had heard him as he proceeded into the stairwell. _Arse!_

It was a simple mission. One that Allen would have been able to take care of on his own, really. Just a typical, everyday 'retrieve-the-Innocence-and-protect-the-civilians' deal.

Except that a particularly stubborn magpie had taken a liking to the luminescent, green cube…

Twelve hours' worth of meticulous tracking went to waste when Allen's stomach finally protested the serious lack of food received over the past half-a-day.

Alarmed, the enormous raven leapt into the sky, soaring far out of reach of the two exhausted exorcists.

"You and your fucking stomach, Moyashi!" The samurai roared. "Damn Komui for sending such a useless brat along!"

"You're the one who said we should skip lunch because _you_ scared it away the first time!"

Kanda growled furiously. "I fell out of the tree because you fell on _me_, idiot!"

"I wouldn't have fallen if you hadn't attempted to slice my head off!"

"I wouldn't have sliced you if I had wanted to! The mission comes first! It's not my fault you act like a five year old girl!"

"Says the one who has long hair and an obsession with lotus flowers!" Kanda winced slightly at the last part, but quickly regained his composure.

"At least I don't have old-man hair!"

"Fine! If you don't want my help, then finish the mission by yourself!" Allen fumed, vanishing into the twilit trees.

Unfortunately, dusky forests were not optimal environments for the directionally challenged.

More than an hour had passed since Allen had left Kanda, and the boy now found himself hopelessly lost, hunger stealing away what was left of his energy.

Gnarled branches latched onto the silver-haired exorcist's coat, dragging him to the ground with a painful crunch as he landed in a tangle of dead thistle.

Tears escaped the boy's eyes as he pried himself free of the spiny foliage and collapsed at the foot of a rotting oak tree, blood oozing from hundreds of tiny scratches all over his face and body. The cuts throbbed terribly. _Ironic how the most superficial scrapes always hurt the worst_, the parasitic-exorcist mused, slipping from consciousness.

From the shadows, three glimmering pairs of eyes waited for the last of the boy's strength to drain from his face.

Their wait proved its worth when the boy's body went limp.

"I feel really bad for doing this," the first finder complained. She was a young woman with soft, auburn curls, green eyes, and motherly charm.

"It's for Allen and Kanda's good; Komui said so himself," Johnny reasoned, producing a length of rope from the bag slung over his shoulder.

"I still don't get it," the second finder grumbled. He was extremely tall and thickly built, with dark, deep-set eyes and a sharp tongue. "Those two are hell-bent on hating each other. How is capturing Walker going to change anything?"

"Well," The scientist began, handing the rope off to the female finder, who started binding the boy's wrists and ankles with the upmost care. "According to Komui, Allen and Kanda don't really hate each other. Komui theorizes that Kanda is actually very protective of Allen but denies it because of his pride. Kanda also won't admit to caring for Allen at all, so when the two come into contact or when Allen gets himself hurt, Kanda's immediate response is to insult him. Allen hates losing to Kanda and doesn't like to be protected anyways, so when they get into fights, he matches Kanda's aggression," Johnny prattled off.

"And this is going to help how," the other finder muttered agitatedly, effortlessly lifting Allen over his shoulder.

"Allen is a gentleman, so, though he doesn't want to be protected, he most definitely will feel indebted to Kanda for 'saving' him," Johnny smiled. "And though Kanda doesn't like for people to feel indebted to him, he'll be satisfied by the fact that he's 'won.'

"The hope is that their mindsets will produce an argument that will end because Allen feels guilty and Kanda uninterested. Allen will, of course, attempt to apologize, which might possibly entertain Kanda. And well… Lenalee seems to think that will bring them closer somehow."

The male finder stared incredulously at Johnny for a moment. "Well that's the most brilliant scheme I have ever heard. I commend the supervisor for his excellence," the first finder groaned.

"It's Komui," Johnny noted. "He's already involved pretty much every contact he has in Italy and ensured that the train they take back to the Order gets delayed in Rome."

"Poor Allen," the woman mumbled under her breath, still feeling immensely guilty.

And this was precisely how our dear, beloved Allen Walker ended up in southern Italy, bound and blindfolded.

Morning, much to the swordsman's dismay, did not bring with it the insults of a certain white-haired, parasitic type Moyashi—no, Kanda was not _worried_ about the boy. Kanda did not care about the Moyashi's well-being (he could delude himself into believing this for now).

Komui did, however, and would have the Japanese man's head under a large knife if the sprout was not brought back in one piece… or brought back at all for that matter.

With a roll of his eyes and a lengthy string of profanities in his native tongue, Kanda Yuu departed the modest inn, making his way out into the sticky, Naples morning, cursing the humidity, the Black Order, and every living being he encountered in his search.

Hours passed without a single lead on the other exorcist.

By afternoon, Kanda's irritation had only worsened, inflating to dangerous levels.

Wood splintered as the swordsman's wrath fell upon the unsuspecting door to a humble bakery, pushing past a number of timid customers to the front counter.

"This idiot," Kanda growled, slamming a wrinkled photograph down onto the wood. "Have you seen him?"

The woman behind the counter examined the photograph for a moment before shaking her head apologetically.

"I'm sorry. I haven't seen this face, but I know someone who may be able to help you find your friend," the stout woman replied in a thick, Italian accent, tucking a lock of grey hair back behind her ear.

"Gaetan," the woman summoned. A young boy who couldn't have been older than Allen appeared beside her. "Prenditi cura del negozio per un attimo, bambino."* He nodded as she removed her apron and ducked around the counter to meet Kanda.

Curious, the boy lifted his eyes to the samurai's face, immediately looking away when a murderous glare met his inquisitive gaze.

"There is shop in the neighboring town," the woman began, pulling a stick of charcoal and a slip of paper from her pocket. She began drawing a map as she spoke. "Near the town center. It's small and easy to miss." Darkly, she circled a small square on the piece of paper, just off what Kanda assumed to be the main street in the town. "My brother Santino owns it." Her loopy handwriting tracked across the paper. "Tell him Maria sent you, and ask for Gentilo," she instructed. "He is old and wise." She met Kanda's eyes as she said this, her own coffee orbs gleaming with certainty. "He will be able to help you."

The swordsman thanked her, and, because he _had_ skipped breakfast, purchased a savory pastry and headed back into the late afternoon sun. It wasn't soba, but it was food, and it certainly wasn't terrible.

Locals sent analytical glances his way, which the Japanese man remedied with fiercer and fiercer glares, all but daring them to ask if he was indeed a foreigner.

Thankfully, Kanda's expression proved dissuasive enough to ward off most of them.

The sun had begun to set and the shop was closing down for the day when Kanda reached his destination.

The swordsman marched haughtily up to who he presumed to be Santino, a middle-aged man of short, rounded stature, whose long, straight nose perfectly matched his sister's. "Maria sent me here. I need to speak with Gentilo," Kanda's announced, voice firm, low, and controlled. Tentatively, the man's eyes scanned over Kanda's attire, coming to rest on the silver exorcist pin.

"You are with the Black Order?" Kanda nodded to confirm.

"Follow me, please," Santino replied, making his way towards the back of the shop. The pair came to a stop before a narrow door in the corner, and Santino produced a worn, brass key from the leather, drawstring pouch on his belt. Knobby fingers trembled as he inserted the key, turning it all the way to the left and pushing in with his shoulder. The door creaked open into a tight hallway.

More doors lined both sides, and dust motes circulated under the thick orange light that dripped in from the fogged window at the end of the passage.

Santino proceeded into the cramped walkway, making towards the end and coming to a stop in front of the last door. He gave three short knocks, which were answered by a low, raspy voice. Kanda could not make out the man's words.

"Un apostolo di Dio vuole parlare con te,"* Santino said. A few more phrases in Italian and Santino pulled the door open, motioning the Japanese man in.

Little if any light filtered in through the heavy drapes. In the worn cot across the room rested a man who, by the looks of him, had seen better days. His cheeks, dark and hallow stretched thinly over the bone beneath. His skin looked transparent and powdery, and deep wrinkles had set in beneath his eyes, which Kanda discovered to be an unnerving shade of red. An albino.

"I hear you are an apostle of God," Gentilo mouthed, words barely escaping his age-thinned lips. Internally, Kanda rolled his eyes.

"I am." The swordsman heard himself answer, tone level and phlegmatic.

The albino, Gentilo, lifted one hand, beckoning for the exorcist to come closer. Impatient though he was growing, Kanda remained stoic and polite. If the man could help, Kanda Yuu certainly was not going to make an ass of himself. Taking a few collected steps forward, the swordsman reached the side of the cot.

"Kneel so I may see your eyes, boy." It was a command, not a request, but nothing in Gentilo's tone indicated disdain or hauteur. No demeaning nature was intended and none was conveyed, so the Japanese man complied, balancing on his knees at the man's side.

Crimson locked on cobalt for a long moment, and Kanda could see his own face in the man's dilated pupils. This man had not seen the light in a very long time.

"You cannot find her." Kanda's eyes shot open wide. "But she is not the one you are missing now." The swordsman remained silent. "He is close to you." Through the heavy Italian accent, extra emphasis had been placed on 'you'—extra care had been taken to give that particular word two meanings. In fact, _all_ of Gentilo's words carried two meanings, and, in Kanda's opinion, it was a particularly loathsome talent to have.

The Japanese man's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean when you say I can't find her?"

"I choose my words deliberately, boy, so that I will not have to say many."

"Do you mean to say that I haven't yet found her or that I won't?" Kanda hissed, knuckles whitening from holding Mugen's hilt in a death grip.

"Cannot both be true?" Blunt. Blunt and brief. The swordsman let out a slow, labored breath.

Samurai did not show emotion. "The Moyashi is near here?"

Closing his eyes, Gentilo sighed and sunk back down. "Allen Walker is within one hundred feet of this room." Taken aback, Kanda finally nodded, rising back to his feet.

A whisper, almost inaudible, caught the swordsman in the doorway. "She would be happier if you were, Kanda Yuu."

Kanda almost tripped over his own feet. "I'll keep that in mind," the equipment-type exorcist replied, closing the door softly behind him to discover a pitch black hallway. The sun had already sunken below the horizon. Kanda had lingered far too long.

Being so close to the ocean kept most of Italy fairly warm all hours of the day. This Kanda came to be grateful for as he wandered down the darkened streets searching for his white-haired partner. Luck did not seem to be on the swordsman's side, however.

Another hour elapsed with no sign of the beansprout.

"God damn confusing bastard albino," the Japanese man swore under his breath.

Kanda wouldn't admit it, but disquiet was slowly consuming his mind. Doubt? No, that could not be the cause of this feeling. Allen was most certainly within one-hundred feet; Kanda's 'Moyashi Ticker' was in the red. Where the damned brat was remained a mystery.

Currently, Kanda wandered through an abandoned barn. "Moyashi!"

No response. Beyond angry by then, the samurai slammed his foot down on the next step. The sound echoed.

No. That couldn't be right; barns didn't echo.

Realization hit him like a brick wall. Hollow. The space below was most certainly hollow.

Exited hands quickly cleared away the rotting straw, pushing it aside as fingernails tracked down the surface, probing it for the telltale sleekness of metal. Fingertips encountered freezing iron. Success.

One stroke of Mugen rendered the lock thoroughly mutilated, and the Kanda yanked open the trapdoor, almost unhinging it with adrenaline induced brutality.

Foul, stinking air met the swordsman's nose, almost causing the man to gag. It smelled like death. Death and decay.

Exorcist boots stepped gingerly on the uneven, grime-slickened stairs, traveling ever deeper into the underground chamber, and shadow's clung to every available inch of stone and dirt. Eventually, the samurai drew his katana, invocating his Innocence, which glowed with blue light as he continued deeper into the ground. Further down the steps, the stench grew increasingly fetid, prompting the swordsman to release his two-handed hold in order to cover his nose and mouth with one sleeve. At last, the swordsman reached level floor, drawing upon a door, left slightly ajar. Rank air enveloped the samurai as he pushed inside. Much to the swordsman's disgust, several dead, putrefying pigs lay, heaped in one corner, blood and entrails spattering the floor.

Not finding any sign of the younger exorcist, Kanda hurried out of the room, venturing farther down the corridor. Another door appeared on the man's right, this one locked. Kanda made quick work of the metal, which screamed in protest as the samurai's sword cut through it like butter.

A terrible, nauseating scene met him on the other side.

Allen. Bound, gagged, and blindfolded. Behind him, an enormous, hooded figure, clad in all black and equipped with a tantou, pressed the weapon against the boy's exposed throat.

"Finally come, have you, Exorcist?" Kanda's pressed his lips into a tight line, narrowing his cold eyes and gripping Mugen with both hands.

"Release him." The Japanese man ordered furiously.

"And if I don't?" The other voice returned.

Kanda's stance shifted dangerously. "Che. Then you die, obviously."

"I would put that sword away if I were you," the figure suggested, pressing the Japanese dagger's dull side slightly harder against the teen's neck. It had to be convincing.

Fighting back the nausea growing in his gut, Kanda snarled back an "or what?"

"Your friend dies, obviously," the figure chuckled back, merrily.

"I think not." Speed would forever be Kanda's favorite part of being a second exorcist. Mugen's tip collided with the end of the dagger, narrowly avoiding Allen's throat as it sent the smaller weapon flying across the room. The tantou landed with a metallic clink and skidded several feet across the floor.

Kanda then returned to attack the white-haired boy's captor, startled when he looked up to find that the figure had vanished. Its voice resonated from the walls themselves; one of Johnny's less useful inventions had actually come in handy this time.

"Next time then, Exorcist."

"Come back here and fight, bastard!" The swordsman growled, only to be cut off by a small whimper which immediately drew the man's attention back to the present.

Strong hands freed the boy of his gag, blindfold, bindings.

Thirty seconds later, a slightly shaken Moyashi stared up at the swordsman with large, platinum eyes and attempted to stand, but, finding his limbs weak from hunger, collapsed. Kanda caught the boy's figure, lifting the form effortlessly into his arms.

By some miracle from God, Kanda never complained about having to carry the boy back to the train station, nor did he once set the boy down before the two finally arrived at the door of a vacant compartment. Even then, he had only shifted the boy so that one of Allen's arms rested over his shoulder, supporting most of the parasitic-type's weight as he slid the door open.

Deftly, Kanda flipped the lock switch with his elbow and dropped down onto the cushioned bench.

Neither spoke until Allen let out a tiny groan of discomfort.

"What's wrong?" Kanda's voice held no anger, no frustration, no venom, malice, sarcasm—_is he really even capable of that? It couldn't be. No… I must be dreaming. _

Frowning, Allen picked at a sliver of wood protruding from one of his palms. "Splinters," the boy muttered agitatedly.

Kanda took one pale hand lightly into his and began pulling the splinters out mercilessly, disregarding any hiss the boy let passed his lips.

"BaKanda," the boy grumbled after Kanda had finished. "That hurt."

"Che. At least I got it done quickly," the older snapped back.

"Yeah…Thank you, Kanda." _Couldn't hurt, could it? I'll only have Mugen shoved down my throat if I'm wrong._ The boy smiled, quickly placing a tiny kiss on the swordsman's cheek. Despite the Japanese man's best efforts, blood still rushed to his cheeks as he grunted a reply, trying his very damndest to avoid eye contact with the smaller exorcist and further the reddening of his face.

But this strategy did not work exceptionally well when said person was seated on his lap, one cursed arm draped over the man's shoulder, the other hand pressed to Kanda's chest…and pouting. Adorably.

Allowing his eyes to slip closed, the smaller inched his beautiful face ever closer to the impassive swordsman's until, finally, their lips met in a soft, chaste kiss.

Allen pulled back hesitantly. Silver eyes locked on Kanda's. "Kanda," the younger started, "what am I to you?"

"Idiot. Do I need to think aloud?" The insult didn't contain the slightest acidity, but Allen was still reluctant to accept such an empty statement.

"Well, your expression doesn't tell me anything and last time this happened you just ignored me and went on with your merry life! What am I supposed to think?"

Silence came on the part of the older, followed by a "damn it all," and a pair of warm lips pressed to Allen's, rough and passionate this time.

The parasitic exorcist adjusted to better accommodate such treatment, straddling Kanda's hips and pulling loose the swordsman's hair-tie. Inky black hair spilled down over the man's shoulders, and a pale, silken hand wove itself into the smooth tresses, using this hold to draw them even closer. Tentatively, the swordsman ran his tongue over Allen's bottom lip, asking for entrance, which was immediately granted.

Kanda explored the younger's mouth, caressing the other's tongue with his. After the initial shock, Cross's apprentice joined in, transforming the casual expedition into a heated battle. Allen had spent enough years living with that perverted womanizer to pick up a few tricks here and there.

Most of them, the white-haired exorcist did not care to recount on a regular basis, but he deemed a few of them innocent—and useful. _They are certainly useful_—enough to be employed.

At last, both parted for air, breaths shallow, hearts racing almost painfully.

"You never did say." Allen's breath ghosted over the swordsman's ear as he spoke. "What I was to you."

"Moyashi," the man growled, irritated.

Allen's tone became suddenly serious. "It's an honest question, Kanda, and I want an answer."

"Che. You're not getting one," the Japanese man grumbled. This, Allen answered promptly with a hard slap across the man's cheek.

"You bastard! Why won't you just answer the damn question! Is it really that hard to do, or do you really just hate me?"

Realizing his actions, the boy instantly flinched, waiting for reprisal that never came.

Instead, Kanda wound his arms tightly around the boy's waist, drawing the smaller against himself.

"I do not hate you, _Allen_." That was enough. It wasn't 'I love you' or even 'I like you,' but the swordsman had actually called Allen by name, and that was about commensurate, considering it was Kanda.

"BaKanda," the white-haired boy yawned, nuzzling his head into the swordsman's shoulder.

"Oi," the Japanese man grumbled. "It's my turn, damn Moyashi."

"Mmmm. Too tired," came a lazy, contented reply.

"Oh no you don't." Kanda gave the boy's sides a hard squeeze, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from the other. "You're not getting a confession without giving one, yourself."

Allen glared. "You arse! That wasn't a confession—"

A sharp nip at the younger's earlobe silenced him and rendered the boy's thoughts incoherent. "Not so loud, Moyashi; you'll wake up the entire train."

"B-BaKanda..." Gone. All knowledge regarding how to properly insult the bastard had been rendered a puddle of useless goo. _So warm. _"I love you." The boy gasped at his slip up, blushing profusely.

"Do you now, Moyashi." A fat smirk settled itself on the samurai's lips.

"Y-yes," Allen replied. "You're a bastard and a narcissist and you glare at me and call me rude names and demean me, but I love you anyway." Those same, smirking lips pressed lightly to Allen's.

"Che. I know that, idiot."

Furious, Allen broke the kiss, smacking Kanda roughly upside the head. "You are an absolute bloody wanker, Kanda Yuu!" The younger hollered, beating on the man's chest with his fists. This seemed to only further amuse Kanda, whose figure now shook with silent laughter—_wait, really? Impossible. _

And then something very curious indeed occurred; Kanda Yuu actually laughed. And it was so foreign, yet gorgeous and sonorous and baritone and downright sexy, and Allen loved every second of it.

Allen wasted no time, making a beeline straight for the dining hall, one growling, grumbling, glaring samurai in tow.

Breakfast conversations consisted of scurrilous remarks and insults and a good deal of awkward acknowledgements on the parts of both Allen and Kanda.

And somewhere, most likely seven floors beneath the Black Order in a room, all by himself, constructing the skeleton of his newest Kamlin model, stood a proud Komui, half working, half watching the relationship of a certain pair exorcists play out via golden golem recordings.

If by some miracle the war came to an end and the exorcists out alive, Komui decided he would rather like to begin his own industry, producing screens which could display images, and then perhaps on to reality filming and screening.

Golden Golem Recordings…

Yes, that would be an excellent name indeed.

* * *

Alright, so I wrote that sometime in October and I was all like "dude, I've got this. One down, six to go! Bring it on!" and now I'm sitting here like "kami, save me. Three down, four remaining. Where's the time turner when you need one!?"

Anyways, reviews are always appreciated and hope you guys enjoyed it. For some reason, I really love Komui, so he'll probably show up a lot in the next submissions.

Later, bunnies~

Sophia


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Playing Third Parites

Pairing: Yullen

Rated: T

Theme: Messenger

Day: 2

Warnings: Yuu's—

Kanda: Don't call me that, Teme!

Warnings: _Kanda's _colorful vocabulary, shonen-ai. Duh…

Disclaimer: I don't own -Man, my bunnies, or it would look very much like this…

Words: 2,780

Summary: Lenalee enlists the help of Lavi to carry out one of her little schemes while she's away on a mission in China.

As for when this story is set... I've read up till -Man 217, but I choose to disregard whatever details weigh my fluffy stories down with angst. You won't see an appearance of the Noah here.

* * *

Playing Bookman isn't quite as enthralling as it appears. I mean, our name pretty much says it all. Book. Man. Great.

But it does have its perks.

Like the fact that no one ever questions my knowledge.

And we do have fun... occasionally...well, Panda doesn't, but that's Panda.

I have fun.

* * *

Yuu is Yuu, his typical jackass self in any situation. I swear, if a zombie walked up and bit him, he wouldn't be fazed. And I know from experience. Because this _has_ happened before; blame the sister-complex supervisor for that one…

This morning, Yuu-chan is hiding in_ his _corner of the dining hall. And believe me: it's his corner… That is until Allen walks in and sits down across from him, and remarks that it's a beautiful morning and Yuu decides to kill him. But after a year of this morning ritual, no one really worries about Allen-chan anymore, least of all, Lenalee-chan, who only smirks each time the two get into an argument.

Speak of the _she-devil_…Lenalee flips her shoulder-length, black hair and shoots me _that_ look, the one that screams 'I have a plan, and you're involved.' After placing her breakfast order with Jerry, Lenalee swaggers over in that belt of a skirt and takes a seat across from me.

"I have a plan, and you're involved," she announces, placing her elbows on the table and resting her delicate chin on her laced fingers. Dead on.

"Elaborate," I reply, leaning in. Her eyes shoot to the pair of swordsmen at the table across from us.

"Firstly," Lenalee begins. "Tell me what you make of _them_."

I glance over at the exorcists in question. Yuu seems intently focused on setting the table on fire with his eyes, while Allen attempts-note the word attempts- to start a conversation with him.

"What do I make of them?" Lenalee rolls her eyes, sighing.

"Hmm. Just follow my lead," the supervisor's little sister purrs, grinning all the while. Jerry calls out our—Lenalee's and mine—orders, and she and I head to the pick-up window.

"Allen," the pink-haired, definitely-not-straight chef calls with a goofy smile, "you're order's ready, hun!" Allen almost leaps from his seat; Yuu visibly relaxes. Lenalee throws me another look, before sitting down directly in front of Kanda. She nods to the seat next to her, and the pieces click into place.

With a smirk of my own, I claim the seat next to Lenalee, only moments before Allen returns with his colossal mountain of food. He frowns ever so slightly, noting that the only available seat is next to Kanda, since the dining hall has spontaneously filled up. Lenalee's lips turn up at the corners, indicating that she sees something I don't, which isn't common. Her dark eyes meet mine for a moment, glittering with uncanny knowingness and wisdom. She and I have perfected the art of speaking to each other with our eyes.

And then, confirming what her eyes have just conveyed, Allen sinks down on the bench next to Yuu. For once, neither of them says a thing. They remain silent. No insults, no snide remarks, smirks, grimaces, sneers.

Lenalee lifts another spoon-full of fresh fruit to her lips, raising one eyebrow at me with a smug look on her face. No one else would understand that look, but I do, and my gaze rests upon the two across from us. It's all plain as day now. The light pink that dusts Yuu's cheeks, the way Allen is seated closer to him than I am to Lenalee. Kanda holds his chopsticks in his left hand, though he's right-handed; his right hand is beneath the table, along with Allen's left.

Miranda enters, and her eyes find us. Her cheeks flush visibly; she can see what Lenalee and I cannot: their fingers are laced together, the back of Yuu's hand resting on Allen's thigh. It's an innocent gesture in all respects, but they really do look beautiful together, silver against navy… sharp, striking smirks and soft, gentle smiles.

It seems so uncharacteristic of Yuu, but sometimes I wonder how much I really know about him. I've known the cold bastard for years, of course. Observed his actions, the way he speaks, the way he fights. But his eyes, juxtaposing Lenalee's, have never revealed anything to me. Yuu's eyes are gated, encased in cobalt steel to hide any unintentional emotion that might flash through them. Right now, I can't even see Yuu's eyes; his bangs have grown out long, a great advantage for the moody, Japanese man, who, with a tiny flick of his head, utilizes those black locks to shadow the top half of his face.

I chuckle inwardly before opening my mouth to tease him. "Yuu-chan!" He growls at my use of his first name. "You face looks pretty red? Are you sick? Should I take you to the medical wing?"

"Shut it, Usagi," he grumbles in a low and dangerous tone. "I'm fine." Allen looks up to Yuu, worry pooling in his widened, chrome eyes, and I realize my unintentional brilliance. Lenalee commends my actions with giggle.

"Lavi's right, Kanda," Allen agrees, leaning in very close to Yuu and placing his right hand against Yuu's forehead. "You don't look so good—"

"I said I'm fine, god damn it!" Yuu snarls, swatting Allen-chan's hand away, the tint on his cheeks growing darker.

"No, really, Kanda—"

"Just shut up!" Yuu roars, jumping up violently to leave. He forgets, however, that his fingers are still intertwined with Allen's, and the motion exposes this fact to the rest of the dining hall, which has filled considerably since Lenalee and I arrived. "B-baka Moyashi, let go of my fucking hand" Kanda growls, attempting to yank his hand free.

Yuu's eyes are visible now, and when Allen won't release his hand, horror flits through them.

"Sit down, BaKanda," Allen smiles, pulling Yuu gently back.

To Lenalee's great pleasure, Yuu, albeit grudgingly, complies. Willingly.

The whole of the room watches in disbelief. Their eyes are locked on Yuu, and I can practically feel the rage radiating from his body. It comes in waves, sending shivers down my spine. Lenalee shudders; she can feel it too, but the expression on her face is purely triumphant. Most of the onlookers redirect their gazes, pretending to return to whatever conversation they had been carrying out before Yuu's little outburst, while Allen carries on eating happily, Yuu waiting for him to finish. Polishing off his eggs, Allen starts in on the mitarashi dango, and Yuu grumbles something about sweets.

"Rou gnow, ou ourd ee a rittre nisher, A-Kanra!" *You know, you could be a little nicer, Ba-Kanda* Allen whines through a mouthful of sticky, rice treats.  
"Che. Close your damn mouth, Moyashi," Yuu mutters, rolling his next few minutes pass in relative peace, a heavy blush coating Yuu's cheeks when Allen devours the last of the treats and leans over to press a tiny kiss to his cheek. And then, in an act of self-preservation, Allen disappears out the double doors into some nameless training room on one of the lower floors of the building.

It takes a full minute for Yuu to register what has just happened, but when he finally does, he draws Mugen stalks after the boy with a face that proclaims there shall be bloody murder, muttering all manner of profanities under his breath.

"Well, this changes things," Lenalee giggles. Something in me still wonders what exactly just happened and why we aren't already at Allen's funeral…

* * *

As stated before, Yuu is a jackass. Thus far, today, he has attempted to kill Allen no less than twenty-seven times, and at dinnertime, the angsty swordsman is nowhere to be found. Allen flashes a contented smile, sitting down across from Lenalee and me. It's a mask, a brilliantly constructed mask, but a mask nonetheless, one to hide the disappointment, the pain inside. Lenalee isn't buying it one bit, but she doesn't bring the issue up, so I follow suit and the rest of dinner passes in awkward silence until Allen takes his leave, shuffling out the door, grey eyes locked on the stone floor. Lenalee looks dejected as she finishes the rest of her broccoli and beef. Her dark eyes dart back and forth in the space in front of her, and as I watch, her bottom lip tucks up under her teeth. Her brows furrow and release. Her foot taps as she thinks. After a generously long moment passes, Lenalee's violet eyes pull open wide, and a smile settles on her lips.

"They just need a little push," she starts, more talking to herself than to me. "Lavi, think you could do me a favor?" There is a plan in place. That sparkle in her eyes says it all—no, not a sparkle. It's a glint. I don't _want_ to agree to this, but there are a number of factors that have already predetermined my fate. I will agree. There really isn't a choice in the matter. This favor, I know, will likely result in injuries and possibly bring about my demise, but I will agree to it anyway because it's Lenalee asking, and I'll do anything for her. Honestly.

You know, it would be useful (speaking as a Bookman) to be able to read people's minds, but at times like these, I feel immensely grateful that we don't have those kinds of capabilities… Or Panda might just kill me.

"Sure." I flash Lenalee a dazzling smile, one that I've spent years perfecting. It's still not quite on the level that Allen's are, and that baffles me but whatever. Moyashi practically looks like a girl, so it makes sense that he looks stunning whenever he smiles.

"Those two need some quality time alone," she begins, "but—"

"Yuu's embarrassed and won't come out of his room," I finish with a frown.

"Which leaves us with two options." Lenalee plays with a strand of her gorgeous hair, twirling it around one long, perfect finger. "We can either lure him out or…we can force Allen in."

A great number of scenes play out in my mind, all of them ending in physical, psychological, or emotional agony for poor Moyashi-chan.

"Sorry to be the pessimist, but to be honest, neither of those two options seem like they'd yield good results," I laugh, nervously.

"I know," Lenalee sighs, "but it's really the only way right now. I'll be leaving tomorrow for a mission in China, and there are already so many exorcists gone on long-term missions that Brother can't really afford send out any more."

"Which is why you need me, right?" I ask.

"Exactly. You have to make sure those two get some quality alone time. God knows what could happen if there's any more tension between them and no one to moderate it…" Immediately, visions of a burning Headquarters bombard my thoughts. "Let's see. Kanda doesn't come out of his room unless he's training or eating."

"And he'll most likely avoid the dining hall when Moyashi-chan's normally there."

"If Brother was to call him for a mission…" a smirk creeps to her lips.

"That could work."

"Hmm." She's thinking again. Yeah, brilliant observation for a Bookman, right? It's just that I can't help but noticing, because whenever Lenalee is thinking, the expression on her face is beautiful enough to die for. "Think you could knock Allen out?"

"It's certainly possible," I shrug. In my mind, I am laughing. Maniacally.

"I'm fairly sure the residential rooms lock from the outside," she grins. "And getting Brother to lend me the skeleton key shouldn't be difficult… Alright. You get to play messenger boy!"

* * *

The trouble with Yuu is that, though he is the dumbest of the four of us—no offense, Yuu, if you can hear me thinking—that's a scary thought…—it's hard to get him to take to things. He's like a piece of metal you have to melt and weld, 'cause no amount of adhesive can possibly succeed in securing its position. So getting him to believe that Komui has sent and official summon for him is going to be difficult. More difficult than I would like, at least.

Lenalee has the easy job; everyone in the Black Order knows her brother will literally do anything for her. And I promise you: he will do anything.

As for rendering Mister Gentleman unconscious, I haven't decided how to do that just yet. I can't drug him, because he might not come to before Yuu reduces the door to a pile of splinters…

* * *

Twelve minutes later, by some stroke of luck, I'm carrying Moyashi-chan's sleeping body down the stairs, down, down to Yuu-chan's currently unoccupied bedroom, and thanking god that Yuu's room is practically as far from Komui's office as it's possible to get in this building.

Lenalee really is a genius, what with being able to perfectly imitate her brother's handwriting…

The skeleton key weighs heavy and freezing in my front pocket. Seriously, the thing must be made of iron.

When I arrive at Yuu's door, I awkwardly shift the Moyashi onto my left shoulder so that I can reach the key. Sliding the iron into the key-hole, I turn it, listening for a tiny click, and nudging the abused door open when this sound reaches my ears.

The door screeches.

Crap. Allen stirs, and my breath catches in my throat. Really, I should have expected something to happen; so much of this little mission has rested on luck. He doesn't wake, but my relief is short-lived, because I can hear some very violent sounding steps echoing down the stairwell. Hastily, I steal inside the obsessively tidy, dark room, lay Moyashi-chan down on the meticulously-made bed, and dart back into the drafty hall, pretending to be on my way to one of the training rooms.

I don't really do a lot of training, but, like I said, Yuu isn't exactly the sharpest crayon in the box, so hopefully he'll buy it.

"Baka Usagi," Yuu growls, voice sounding very much closer than I had anticipated. "What are you doing down here?"

I turn on my heel to face him. Yuu looks just about as pissed as I've ever seen him, and I know he has an idea as to what's going on. He's actually a lot more intelligent when he's mad, which is terrifying and wrong in so many ways.

"I thought I'd head down here to train for a while before I turn in," I lie easily. The look on his face tells me Yuu's reluctant to buy it, but after a few moments, he clicks his tongue at me, unlocks his door, stomps inside the room, and slams the door behind him.

I jump to the door with impossible speed, ripping the key out of my pocket, cramming it into the keyhole, and turning the lock all the way right until the little known about dead bolt, the one that you can't unlock from inside, slides home.

"Usagi!" Yuu howls. "Unlock this door now!"

"Sorry, Yuu-chan," I laugh, "I can't do that!"

"Usagi I swear to god I will slice your ass into so many pieces—"

"Have a good night!" I exclaim cheerfully, disappearing back up the stairs to my own room.

* * *

In wake up at four in the morning—early even by Yuu's standards—groggy and tired, but I need to unlock their door and return the skeleton key before Komui notices it's gone, so I drag myself out of bed, throw on some clothing, and plod my way down to Yuu's room to unlock the door.

You know, I'm hauling myself down all the damn stairs at four in the morning, and I'm going to have to go back up when I'm finished…

The deadbolt slides back in, and I replace the key in my pocket.

Well…I'm the one who set Yuu and Moyashi-chan up in the first place, playing messenger boy and secret agent... I turn the doorknob, crack the door ever so slightly, and peak in.

Multicolor light filters through Yuu's stained glass window and paints a head of white hair in soft hues of red, orange, blue, yellow, purple, and green. Untied, blue-black tresses trail down the bed and spill off the mattress in some places. One of Yuu's arms wraps protectively around the boy's slight frame, Allen's palm rests against Yuu's chest, and their two remaining hands clasp loosely together.

They really are beautiful together; Lenalee'll be sad she missed this.

* * *

So it all worked out, really. Nobody got hurt, Lenalee got her fantasy, and I got my entertainment out of the deal when the next morning came around...

And you know, being a Bookman lands you the responsibility of documenting history; therefore, since hell must have frozen over, I decided it was probably a good idea to write out exactly why such an event must have occurred.

In detail.

* * *

Alright! So there's submission number two! I feel so accomplished xD

Hope you all enjoyed, bunnies.


	3. Extasia

Title:

Pairing: Yullen

Rating: strong T

Theme: Shelter

Day: 3

Warnings: Okay... Half of Kanda's vocabulary is swear words, you know. It's a little bit hard to keep the language gentle when you're writing from Kanda's point of view... So there's really not that much romance in this one... It's more a set up for the rest of the ficlet.

Words: 15,551

Summary: Christmas time is finally looking up for Allen, but will an unexpected visit from Cross put a damper on the season?

* * *

"Yuu!" It's the Usagi again. I'm tempted to give him a crew cut with Mugen, but honestly, I'm too tired. Where's Lenalee with the god damn coffee when you need her? "Lenalee's hosting a Christmas party, and she needs you to be a primary party planner!"

No. I will not let this shit happen again. "Fuck no. Go find someone else."

"Now Yuu-chan, let's try using nice words. For instance: My apologies, Lavi, but I have prior engagements. Perhaps you should ask Allen—"

"Screw off or I'll cut you to pieces and feed you to the Moyashi." Of course, the boy chooses this particular moment to appear and sit down at the table. _My_ table. Damn idiots jump at any opportunity to make my life miserable.

"Wha—" Excellent timing on the part of the silverette. A moment later, spotting Moyashi and Usagi, a tiny brunette waitress glides over.

"Allen, sweetheart! How are you? Jeryy was worried your text books might have finally crushed you alive," she chimes in a sickeningly sweet tone, toying with a strand of her hair. The Moyashi's light laughter cuts through her cloying voice, forced but pleasant.  
"Not today, but they're getting close," he returns with a smile that brings red to her cheeks.

"So, what can I get you two to drink?" She asks, slightly inclining herself towards the ingenuous boy and blinking her dull, green eyes more times than necessary.

"Coffee, please," Moyashi replies. Oh—hell—no—why…

"Cream and sugar?" Silver hair shifts as he nods.

"And you, Lavi?"

"Just water, thanks," the red-head answers.

"I'll be right back with your drinks," she hums, swaying her boyish hips awkwardly as she walks off.

"Perfect timing, Moyashi-chan!" As soon as the path is clear, the Usagi leaps from his seat, nearly overturning the table as he tackles the boy to the floor and smothers him with much too affectionate gestures—I don't care. I honestly don't.

I don't care at all that they're currently sprawled out on the baby pink-tile floor of Jeryy's Café—and no: I am not gay. Jeryy's the only one who makes soba properly.

I'm seriously ready to walk out, but as if on cue, the two idiots climb back into their respective seats and the waitress returns with their drinks and takes their orders, Moyashi's filling a good chunk of her notepad with sloppy cursive.

For ten minutes, I'm stuck attempting to tune out that idiot Usagi's penetrating voice as he prattles away mindlessly about who the hell cares what. At some point, the conversation migrates to women and the waitress returns with their food, Lavi ogling her as she attempts to flirt with the Moyashi. If by some miracle the two of them weren't so damn irritating, I might find this situation mildly amusing, because Usagi looks damn frustrated and Moyashi is about as red as the strawberries on the sugary pancakes he is currently drowning in maple syrup.

I catch myself admitting that Allen looks damn adorable and I can't really stop the words that slip off my tongue. "Would you like some pancakes with that syrup?"

Silver eyes flick up to mine, an incredulous look painted all over the boy's further reddening face as he remains perfectly still, fork halted in its course.

A slice of melon sliding off silver tines drags him back to reality, and he tunes back in to the Usagi's chatter, keeping his eyes as far from mine as possible.

"…Speaking of beautiful women…Lenalee needs us to help out with the Christmas party, Moyashi-chan!" Disappointment. Anger. Pain. He thinks no one notices what flashes across his face whenever someone brings up Christmas, and Lavi probably doesn't. But I do.

The Moyashi continues gorging himself, but his pace slows if only slightly, the smile on his lips diminished. Even if it is only a fake smile.

"Komui's gonna come home for the holidays, so Lenalee wants to make this Christmas extra special." Allen won't even look at his food anymore. The fork falls from his hand and suddenly, rage clouds my vision and I want very much to wring the idiot red-head's neck with my bare hands—to strangle the life out of him—watch him choke on the tactless words spilling from his mouth and rid the world of one more fat-mouthed idiot.

"We're going now." Before I know what I'm doing, I'm jumping from my seat, shooting the Usagi a murderous expression, snatching up the Moyashi's bill and my own, glancing at the totals (fuck, the boy can run up a tab)—damn; I don't carry that much on me! Who the hell does?—deciding to pay the bill up front, grabbing the Moyashi's arm with my free hand, and dragging the boy off towards the counter.

Two bills and one profusely blushing, coldly-rejected waitress later, I'm hauling a thoroughly confused, silver-haired, sinfully adorable Moyashi into the passenger seat of my black Nissan GTR, cramming the key into the ignition, and pulling out into the Friday night traffic of downtown London.

"Kanda?" Moyashi asks, voice feeble and hesitant.  
"What?" My eyes dart to his face, which contorts in pain, and I make a mental note to use a softer tone.

"Why did you…" he trails off, quietly gazing down at the pale skin of his laced fingers.

"Che. You looked fucking miserable, Sprout. It was getting on my nerves." Not the most gentle of words, but they're spoken with more empathy than average. He knows that; relief is written on his face… Along with confusion. Because even I can't really explain what I did or why.

"Thank you, Kanda." Traffic has finally started moving, so I unwillingly return my gaze to the road.

"Moyashi." Silence. "Moyashi." Nothing. "Snap out of it!"

"S-sorry," he stammers, a light blush capturing his cheeks—oh god, I've got to ignore that…

"Where do you live?"

"Oh. Fifty-five Ebury Street," Allen replies, softly.

"Belgravia, not Soho?"

Silver hair masks the boy's face when he tilts his head down. "Cross has his antics…Besides, you live in Knightsbridge!"

"Only because the old man never stays in England long enough to actually live in his own home."

"Spoiled rich brat," he mutters under his breath.

"Short-stack."

"Ponytail."

"Old-man hair."

"Samurai wannabe."

"Underage merit student."

"Shut up!" Moyashi whines rather girlishly, tucking his chin even farther into his high-neck, grey sweater.  
"You know Moyashi, you just might turn into a turtle if you keep that up." Allen's cheeks are now gorgeously and distractingly pink—I'm not gay! I swear. That boy—girl—whatever the hell he—she—it is… Never mind. Just fuck it all.

Why won't the damn light turn green already?!

"So." No, that was not a 'so,' that was a 'sooooooooooooo…' He did not just play the 'soooooooo' card—that's awkward—is this what pity feels like? " BMW X6M not accelerate fast enough for you?" If ever there was any semblance of pity in my heart, it has now died.

"Shut up, undergrad," I grumble, almost thanking god that we're finally on Ebury. "It's the old man's girly ass car. I actually _do_ finance my own shit, so keep your mouth shut."

"Oh. So that's why you don't drive a Corvette—"

"You could not pay me to drive a Corvette. Speak of the alternate-universe-old-country-club-Devil's car…" There's a glossy, red ZR1 sitting in the lot, just begging for a nice dent. "Oi Moyashi." I steal a look in the silent boy's direction and am met with a sickly grey complexion.

"Cross is here."

"Yeah, he seems like a Corvette guy," I snort. Moyashi opens the door in a long, drawn out manner. A thought occurs to me, but I kill it with the upmost speed.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around," he whispers hoarsely, climbing out and shutting the door gently behind himself.

My eyes track him up to the doors of the complex, analyzing the way his hips sway from side to side ever so slightly, the way the wind plays with his snowy locks, the way he rubs his hands together in the icy December air. I'm not gay.

When he disappears into the warmth of the building, I pull out of the lot.

* * *

"Fuck." What the hell is the Moyashi doing texting me at two in the damn morning. Hastily, I snatch the smartphone off of the bedside table and unlock the screen.

_Hey Lavi, can I crash at your place for the night? _

"Tch."

_If you're going to text someone at two in the f***ing morning, make sure you have the right number, dumbass._

I don't care and I don't want to.

_Oh my god! I'm so sorry, Kanda! _

I seriously feel like throwing the phone at the wall to silence the damn thing, but I've already broken six in the last two months and configuring them is a pain the ass. Immediately, I drop the nuisance to the floor and shove it under the bed.

In reality, the fact that the moyashi will most likely be staying the night at Lavi's pisses me off to no extent. But whatever; it's really not my business where the brat decides to take shelter when that asshole comes to town.

* * *

Angsty, right? Yeah, I know. Sorry. There really isn't much fluff or even really physical contact in this chapter :P

In case you were wondering, that waitress, the one with boyish hips, a cloying voice, and dull green eyes, that's me. But don't take Kanda's descriptions all too credulously. Lavi's reaction says a lot more.

Until the twenty-fourth, bunnies ;)


	4. Praying

I don't know why I wrote this. Or how. Or when...sometime in the middle of the night, most likely. Anyways, it's probably the most depressing piece I have ever managed to concoct.

So here it is, my character death fic.

* * *

I keep waking up, hoping that you're there beside me warming the sheets so that my small body won't have to work quite so hard to keep me alive in this bitter winter. I keep waking up, expecting you to growl and pull me back down when I attempt to slide out of the bed without waking you. I keep thinking that when I wake up, there'll be a soft kiss waiting on my lips and the streak of deep sapphire to meet my blurred gaze as you quickly disappear out the door, locking it behind you.

And then I remember that you aren't here anymore.

I remember when my limbs are still drawn to my chest, frantically gripping at whatever heat my body can manage to produce. I remember when the balls of my feet reach that icy stone and trail over it silently. I remember when I open my eyes to find only the gray of ancient stone walls and the white light that pours in from the badly sealed window and drowns out the comfort of dreams.

In the silent morning, my bare feet only whisper against the stone floors as I dash to your room and tear open the door to find an empty bed.

And afternoons never bring you home. You hate being welcomed back. You hate the kindness that you delude yourself into thinking you don't deserve. So you only return during the night, and I wait patiently for the sun to slip below the horizon so that I can sprint out to the front doors and sit for hours, tracking the horizon with my silver eyes so as not to miss you if you do decide to come back today.

Someday I'll stop doing this. Someday, I will wake up, warm and comfortable and alone. Someday, I will sleep in simply because I feel like it. Someday, I'll rise and smile at the sunlight that greets me.

One day, I'll start heading to the dining hall in the morning. One day, I'll lie out on the emerald grass in the afternoon and laugh into the expanse of lapis and opal. One day, I'll head back to my own room after finishing dinner and I'll shower and fall into dreamless sleep.

But at night, my feet will bring me back outside, into the darkness, into the shadow of the elm tree, under which the remains of your body rest, your name carved into the face of a white, marble slate that resides above them. At night, I'll cry until my tears run dry and my skin turns flushed and blotchy. At night, I'll fall to my knees in a silent scream, scraping my shins and bloodying my hands as I dig my nails into the ground. At night, I'll plead to some sick, sadistic god to have you back.

I'll pray that your warm body will create a valley on the spring mattress, gravity aiding you to ensnare me as I, commanded by my empty stomach, attempt my newest escape plan. I'll pray that you'll drag me back under those covers and seal your lips over mine in your silent promise and then vanish abruptly, only to reappear at breakfast, a scowl fastened to your handsome face as that red-headed fool attempts to braid your hair or steal your soba noodles for the umpteenth time that morning. I'll pray that those eyes that glower at all others, find mine again in silent serenity, speaking all those cliché words that you would not dare allow out of your mouth.

And that fact is laughably ironic, because sometimes they would, despite your efforts. Sometimes, in those lingering moments before the both of us fell asleep, those words would slip off your tongue, and, if my prayers are answered, I know that they still will, to spite you. And if, by some miracle, my prayers are answered, I know that a small smile will grace your lips just before your eyes slip closed for the night.

I know this because, though my body screamed and begged me for sleep, I remained awake just for that. Just for your smile. If my prayers are answered, I will continue to steal those minutes away from myself, because your smile is worth it. Even if we separate someday, I figure it'll be good blackmail at least.

I love you.

* * *

By the way, this was the optional theme for day four of Yullen week: Living on a Prayer. Actually, I'm still writing my real submission, which contains the official theme. That should be up sometime in the morningish-probably afternoon, cuz I wake up so damn late xD

Anyways, now that I've gotten my depression and angst out of the way, I can focus on finishing up the real submission for day four! ...oh wait... that's an angsty one too. Well, at least there's romance in it! I still haven't figured out where to stick in the northern star... It'll probably show up kinda like the theme for day three did xD Cleverly and near the end. But since I chose the title Extasia (Ecstacy), I am obliged to provide some sort of redeeming fluff or limes or something, so never fear! It will all work out perfectly in the end. Because somehow, my subconscious latches onto a title and just makes the story follow along. That's how it works with my brain. I will not question my luck.

...Until...later today? my bunnies!


	5. Extasia Part 2

Title: Extasia Part 2

Pairing: Yullen

Rating: Strong T

Theme: Northern Star

Day: 4

Warnings: Kanda's oh so lovely vocabulary. Shonen-ai

Words: 1,863

* * *

What the hell—you've got to be kidding me. "Gangnam Style." The idiot hacked into my damn phone and set his ringtone to "Gangnam Style." I drop my arm off the bed, searching for the insufferable device. My fingertips brush over a rounded corner, but the piece of crap excuse of a phone is just out of reach, so I slide my torso over the side of the mattress, because I'm not going to get off the bed to answer a phone call from the damn Usagi.

"You'd better have a pretty fucking good reason for calling me at three in the morning, Rabbit."

"You took Allen home right?"

"I'm through with this crap—"

"I swear to god, Kanda, if you hang up the phone—" and then "Allen, lie back down! I'll be right there, kay?" Moyashi's voice carries over the speaker in the background, but the sound is muffled.

"Usagi, what the hell is going on?" I growl, sliding out of bed.

"You were aware that Cross is back, weren't you?" Idiots. Disrupting my sleep—"did you not stop to think for a _second_? You honestly just sent him in there?"

"What the hell—just fucking tell me what's going on already! It's three in the morning in case you didn't know!" It is three in the morning, and to be fair, there's no coffee.

"You know, I'd rather not have something like you set foot in my house anymore, but Allen's asking for you, so he's gonna get a Yuu if I have to drive up there and drag your bitching ass back!"

I jam the covers back, cradle the phone between my chin and shoulder, throw the drawers open, rummage around for jeans—why the hell didn't I do the laundry last week—find something wearable, tug it on—"keep your head on, dammit. I'm on my way," I hiss, disconnecting the call and cramming the phone into my back pocket as I slip out the door and fly down the stairs. Cigarette smoke bombards me as I dash past a group of heavy smokers, most likely drunk as well, stumbling their way down the pavement, lopsided, toothy grins plastered to their unshaven faces.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing in such a rush, eh?" One of them slurs out, smirking widely. My hand reaches for Mugen, only to meet empty space where the forgotten sword usually rests, but my feet carry me furiously to the sorry excuse of a man shuffling his way across the asphalt. How the low lifes even got into this community, given that it's gated, it beyond me.

"Sober up and fuck off," I snarl, dropping my voice to the lowest register I can. Clearly absolved of any of his previous, the man staggers back into the rest of the party, eyes wide in shock or terror—both, I hope. Damn idiots should take a taxi home for god's sake.

The lights of London flash speed by; I'm going at ten miles over the speed limit, but Lavi's is only another five minutes out, and I'll be damned if there's a cop in this part of town at three fifteen in the morning.

Lavi's flamboyant car comes into view, a cherry red mustang with black accents, sitting in the driveway of a boring house in a boring, middle class neighborhood, something about the location being closer to his job or crap—I could care less right now, but I am oddly grateful to have that sore thumb of a car sticking out at me from a hundred yards away; every damn house in the subdivision looks the same.

Somebody remind me what I'm doing at the Usagi's place at three in the morning again. Oh that's right, something or other about the sprout. Why the hell is it so early, again? This should be a sin—I'm sinning for the Moyashi. Must be a cold day in hell. Oh, that's right: this is hell.

Lavi has the door open before my foot touches down on the walkway.

"Hurry your ass up, Kanda. I'm not going to hold the door open all damn night," the red-head snaps, shooting me a filthy look. I glower back, taking the steps two at a time, tracking grey snow slush into the house, and slamming the door roughly behind me. The nauseating stench of undiluted bleach meets my nose the moment I step into the main room.

The rug has been pulled aside and the hardwood beneath is littered with medical tape, gauze, antiseptics, towels, and bandages. A modern coffee table hosts a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a ceramic bowl, and a set of medical grade, sterile needles and thread. Alcohol and bleach scent the room, along with notes of iron; there's blood everywhere.

"Usagi, what the hell—"

"Ignore that," the redhead clips back. "I'll finish cleaning in a minute." The redhead keeps up his brisk pace, darting passed the gruesome scene and up a set of stairs to the second door on the right side of the hall (Lavi has two roommates). He turns the knob and the door lets in to an unsettling image.

The room is almost black, save for the light of a few electric candles on the vanity. Moyashi's eyes drill into me from where he rests on the queen bed, his left cheek almost entirely masked by gauze, a purple-blue bruise flowering on the right side of his jaw. I watch as he raises slips one arm tentatively from beneath the covers. Bandages are wound snuggly around his forearm.

"Hey, Kanda." His voice is breathy almost a whisper. Cross is going to die and burn in the pits of hell where no angel in heaven could possibly save his slimy, filthy soul—"Kanda, will you open the curtains for me?"

"Why?" The boys wide, silver eyes meet mine, silently pleading, so I comply and venture further into the room to pull back the heavy black drapes.

"The stars are pretty tonight," he murmurs, gazing out the window.

"Yeah." With his face turned towards the window, the moonlight almost washes out the purple on his jawline.

"Kanda, what's that one?" He points towards a particularly bright star with one bandaged hand.

"Che, you expect me to know, Sprout?"

"I know you do," he returns, blankly. "You seemed to like the astronomy course you took last year."

"It's Polaris."

"The Northern Star?"

"Yeah." A smile stretches across his split lip, reopening the cut, and a bead of blood oozes from the wound. I am going to cut that bastard into so many fucking pieces…

"When I was little, Mana used to tell me that the Northern Star was heaven, that on clear nights, my real parents would watch over me while I slept." It's not that I say much, but I feel the urge to say something right now. Despite me, I want to tell him that it'll be alright. Maybe I should apologize. I don't know. "It's Christmas eve, isn't it?" He asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah." His face contorts in pain, stretching the medical tape in a manner that's likely to tear it.

"Stop that; you'll ruin your bandages." His eyes find mine before he lets them slip closed, draws in a deep breath, and allows his facial muscles to relax into an indifferent expression.

"Kanda?"

"Hm?"

"Why aren't you happy on Christmas?" God, why does the kid have to be so damn innocent?

"Cuz it's a damn nightmare is what it is. The old man comes home and invites seventy billion people to the house and they all get drunk as shit and start howling Christmas carols like dying cats. It's terrible." And Lenalee's party probably won't be any better given that the Usagi'll probably be trying to look up her skirt every other damn minute. Gentle laughter reverberates through the room. It's Allen's.

"You know, Kanda, I'd like to see you drunk," he chuckles, brushing a lock of white aside from in front of his eyes.

"That bastard beats you to hell on one of his binges, and you say you want to see me drunk. That makes a lot of fucking sense, Sprout." He twists his face up again, frowning deeply.

"You're nothing like Cross, Kanda. You may threaten me and stalk me down and wave your katana in my face and call me rude, irritating names, but you're not a bad person." Not a bad person, huh? "I'd just like to see you without so many inhibitions, though… I don't think I can picture you smiling," he muses, a small smile creeping to his cracked lips. I reach into my pocket, fishing a tube of chap-stick out.

"Here. Put it on." He accepts the chap-stick with a smirk.

"So the almighty, manly samurai uses lip gloss—"

"It's chap-stick, retard. Dry lips are irritating."

"And god forbid anything be the least bit troublesome—"

"Shut up." He laughs again, applying the balm to his lips, and then replaces the cap and hands it back to me.

"Kanda," Moyashi begins, lips parted in an undeniably suggestive manner.

"What?" I grumble, replacing the tube in my pocket.

"Have you ever been kissed before?" What the fuck.

"Che." Damn, I thought I'd buried that memory long ago. Damn Sprout, bringing things back up and making everything—

"Have you?"

"Why do you want to know so damn bad?"

"Just curious," he replies, leaning in towards me ever so slightly. Yes, I noticed, Moyashi.

"Unfortunately, yes," I growl, gripping the covers beneath my hands. Damn drunken perverts in the Asia branch…

"Good, then I won't feel guilty doing this," he smiles.  
"Wha—" A pair of warm, slightly chapped lips press to mine softly, moving slowly, shyly. Damn brat… didn't I tell you: I'm not gay? As I press against him, cautious of his wounds, carefully slipping an arm around his back, kissing back gently, I eat my own words. I'm pulling him into my lap, carefully, carefully, eliciting a soft whimper of discomfort before he settles into a comfortable position and allows his sore, bruised muscles to relax. I swear to god I will fucking strangle that bastard in the morning, but for now, I take in a breath and release it and the anger, allowing it to fade into a corner of my mind, because I could care less right now. His lips part.

"I brought some tea—" Off—shit—covers—damn—Moyashi—shit, shit, shit—damn idiot. The Usagi shoots me a very dirty look before handing the Moyashi a mug of what smells like earl grey.

"Lavi, be nice," Allen hisses. "He hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Hasn't done anything wrong? He fucking let you go back to that apartment while Cross was there, alone!"

"And I won't ever fucking do it again, alright!" The Usagi falls silent, along with the Moyashi. The rabbit sends me one final scowl before sighing.

"Fine, I'll give you two ten more minutes, but then Allen needs to get to sleep. Lenalee's party is tomorrow, and she's already pissed that you two didn't help her set up." The door swings closed again, and immediately, the Moyashi is back in my arms.

"Hey Kanda?"

"What?"

"Can I stay at your place tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

* * *

I actually cranked this one out today... I'm pretty impressed with myself.

So here's the little bit of fluffy stuff for you guys. This ficlet isn't finished yet, though! Stay tuned!

Reviews welcome, bunnies ;)

Love you,

Sophia.

P.S. Merry Christmas Eve, everyone! Or happy holidays or whatever doesn't offend anyone xD


	6. Extasia Part 3

Title: Extasia

Pairing: Yullen

Rating: Strong T

Theme: (optional theme) Breathless

Day: 5

Warnings: Swear words. Oh my god, really?! Yes. Shonen-ai

Words: 1,228

* * *

Two years later at Lenalee's annual Christmas party:

"Here's one for Daisya," Lenalee calls over the crinkling of wrapping paper and laughter of her guests. "'With love from your dad, Tiedoll—'awe! How sweet!" Lenalee passes the poorly wrapped package to Daisya, who rips the multicolor paper from the box easily. As he pulls open the lid to reveal two tickets to the FIFA World Cup, his face lights up with a broad smile.

"I figured you'd like something like that," Tiedoll chuckles with a smile.

"Hey Kanda," the Chinese girl smirks. "This one's got your name on it." The moody swordsman grunts a reply from his place on the sofa. In Kanda language, that meant: 'I am not getting up, so if you want me to participate in this holiday, you are going to have to bring me the damn thing.'

With a small sigh and an "oh, Kanda," Lenalee glides across the room, gift in hand. Kanda takes the bag with a frown, pulling out the tissue paper and allowing it to drift to the floor, and retrieves the tissue-paper encased item from the bottom of the bag.

"You know, you could read the card first, smart one," Allen groans, rolling sliver eyes.

"Che, idiot Moyashi," Kanda growls, digging around inside the bag until he finally spots the card amidst all the red and green paper. It's a tiny envelope, no larger than Kanda's palm.

You really couldn't call Kanda a gentle person, but he, like everyone else, has his idiosyncrasies, for instance his compulsively keeping things neat and tidy, so, with adroit fingers, he opens the envelop, wary of ripping it in any manner. The card inside is small and heavy, practically covered in gold glitter, and bejeweled with red rhinestones. The front reads 'For my princess…' and right then and there, Kanda nearly chucks the sparkling nightmare into Allen's smirking face. He refrains, however, for a gift card tumbles out of the card, landing on his lap, a gift card to Kanda's favorite gardening shop. The inside of the card gleames with an elegant font. Written in glittering gold gel pen, it reads thusly:

'Dear Kanda, sometimes you're moody (well, all the time…), and sometimes you growl, and sometimes you're scary (you terrify me), and sometimes you scowl (how do you not have wrinkles yet?!). You're a zombie when waking (up that is…), a sailor in tongue, and sometimes it's hard to believe you're so young. But your smiles are stunning, though your kind words are few, your kisses amazing'—and, in a different style of writing altogether, that looks far more like Lavi's than Allen's…—'you're great in bed too, (Sorry! I left the room for thirty seconds and Lavi…well, Lavi did what Lavi does best…) Okay, I'm giving up on this poem thing, but the point is, I love you. Merry Christmas, Kanda. Love, Allen.' Kanda almost smiles…almost, and he places the stupidly sparkly card aside to unwrap whatever is in the red paper.

In the swordsman's hand falls a wine-red hair-tie with a silver lotus—small and unobtrusive—shimmering under the light.

"Well don't just sit there staring at it; try it on," Allen chuckles. "Maybe I should help you." Plucking the band from the Japanese man's open palm, the younger hops over the sofa—not without earning a disproving look from Lenalee—and begins combing through Kanda's long, raven tresses with his fingers, marveling at the silken texture. After some 'untangling,' Allen tugs the band around Kanda's hair—careful of course to ensure that parts remain down to frame the man's face— looping it once, twice, three times, and then gently tightens the style. It's elegant, fitting. "There. You look beautiful, Princess," the silverette finishes with a wink.

"What did you fucking call me?" Kanda growls, sending a death glare over his shoulder.

"Nothing, _Yuu-pon_," Allen replies, ducking down to place a quick peck on Kanda's lips.

"I swear to god I will mutilate you passed recognition, Moyashi!" The angry Japanese man threatens, springing from his seat and climbing over the back of the couch.

"Not you too, Kanda," Lenalee begins, but the swordsman has already landed on the other side and retrieved Mugen from its resting place against the arm of the piece of furniture. Kanda draws the Katana, chasing after the Brit, who has fled to Lee house dining room, which is elegantly decorated and prepared for Christmas dinner. Changing tactics, Lenalee darts through the kitchen and intercepts the pair before they can do any damage to the hand-painted china. "If you two are going to fight, I will kick you out and make you sit in the snow for the rest of the day, but if you feel like being normal, decent people, there is a present for you," her eyes meet Allen's "waiting in the living room, and I'm pretty sure you want to watch him open it, Kanda." Allen looks immensely confused.

"You got me a present for Christmas, Kanda?"

"It's not for Christmas, idiot; I don't do that shit. Need I remind you that it's your birthday today?" The raven haired man groans, rolling his dark eyes.

"Oh, that's right…" Allen mumbles, wandering back into the living room, where Lenalee hands him a small box, elegantly wrapped in glossy, silver paper and tied with a gold bow.

Allen takes the box and a seat, slides the bow off, and proceeds to painstakingly peel the tape from the sides and bottom of the box.

"Will you just open the damn thing already," Kanda huffs, staring directly down at the boy.

"Why don't you take a seat, if you're so tired of standing?" Allen mutters back.

"Look, it wasn't my fucking idea—just open the damn box already," he replies, shooting a glare at Lenalee, who giggles expectantly.

"Fine, fine…princess," the silver-haired man sighs, tearing the paper, a pained look shooting across his face. "It was such pretty paper..."

"There's a whole fucking roll of it at home, Moyashi—"

"Alright, alright," Allen mumbles, crumpling the paper up into a ball and tossing it aside. A small, black velvet box is left in his pale hand.

"This…this couldn't…" Trembling fingers flip the lid open to reveal a simple, glistening, yellow gold band. Allen gets to his feet, shakily, and it's then that he notices Kanda's cobalt eyes are no longer boring down on him, but rather, gazing up into his. Kanda takes Allen's free hand with his own.

"Marry me, _Aren_." Speechless, breathless, Allen can only jump into the swordsman's arms, tears slipping down his cheeks, an enormous smile on his lips.

"Yes. I'll marry you, Kanda Yuu," Allen cries, holding his fiancé tight. The room erupts in applause.

Unfortunately for the newly engaged couple, their position exposes the ring to the surrounding room, and faster than either of them knew possible, Lavi leaps across the room, plucks the gold band from the box, howls "my precious," and dashes out.

"Oh Lavi," Lenalee groans, sighing once again.

"The fuck?"

"He has Hobbit Fever," Daisya chuckles.

"That damn Usa—" The silver haired man clamps a hand over Kanda's mouth and forces eye contact.

"You can kill him later," Allen laughs. "Just let me enjoy this moment a little longer. With a grunted reply, Kanda allows his tightened muscles to relax, before Allen's lips meet his, soft, warm, smiling into the kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too."

* * *

So that complete's the ficlet, Extasia! Hope you all liked it! I'll probably write another submission for the official day 5 theme, but this theme suited the ending I wanted to give the story... So there.

Reviews are always appreciated. They make my heart feel warm and fuzzy :D

Love you,

Sophia


	7. Single Forever Part 1

Just barely made it with this one...

Title: Single Forever

Rating: Strong T

Theme: Halway

Day: 5

Warnings: Language, shonen-ai

Words: 1,850

Ummm. Just went back and did some editing on this xD

* * *

"Yuu-chan, would it really kill you to humor one of those girls every once in a while? That one was really cute…"

"Then why don't you pick her up, god damn it!" Lavi clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly.

"Oh, Yuu-chan, I could never take advantage of a girl's sorrow. And you know Lenalee and I are together now, right?"

"I swear I'm staying single forever," Kanda grumbled, sheathing his Katana and grabbing his canvas bag from the floor of the dojo.

"But Yuu, Lenalee and I are gonna hit up the new club tonight, and we wanted to get together a group to go along—"

"Forget it. I don't do romance, and I don't do clubs either," the Japanese man replied, pulling his heels into his lace up boots.

"Come on, Yuu, please!" Lavi pleads, getting down on his knees.

"No," Kanda grunted in reply, sliding out the door, stepping out into the night, and slamming it closed behind him. Now, most would just assume that Kanda was in one of his typical pissy moods, but this was Lavi and the redhead knew that something else was up. Live or die, Lavi was going to get Kanda to go out tonight. That was that and there were no if's, and's, or but's.

"Guess we're doing this the hard way," the redhead murmured, grinning to himself. Snatching up his gear, Lavi rushed out the door and grabbed hold of the man's shoulder.

"Baka Usagi, let go of my damn arm," Kanda said, emphasizing his words by drawing Mugen and placing the edge of the blade against the rehead's throat. Of course, Lavi had received enough death threats to know that it was just another one of the man's antics.

"Come on Yuu-chan," Lavi whined, "I'll pay for drinks," he proffered, desperately. This caught Kanda's attention almost immediately.

"You don't want to do that," Kanda shot back, a sexy smirk spreading across his lips, the smirk that sometimes had Lavi wishing he could somehow manage to—well, never mind that…

"Yes I do if it means you'll come down to the club with us."

"So you want to drag me along so I can watch you and Lenalee fucking make out and stand there awkwardly—"

"I invited someone else too, silly," Lavi chuckled with a wink. "Someone I think you'll like."

"You fucking set up a double date?" Kanda threw open the door to his black BMW, glaring at Lavi as he climbed into the vehicle.

"Well, I guess that girl is just gonna have to watch you two make out instead," the swordsman muttered.

"Actually," Lavi laughed sheepishly, "it's not a girl. He's an attractive young man with a fantastic body and unusual hair." Kanda almost choked but quickly swallowed his surprise.

"How the fuck did you know?" The raven-haired man growled, voice dropping into a dangerously low register.

"Well, it wasn't that hard really," Lavi admitted, running a hand through his fiery-red locks nervously. "I just kinda figured…since you turned down all those girls…especially that last one; she was a real looker, you know. Hell, I probably would have said yes if she'd asked me instead."

"Just get in the car," Kanda muttered and then, for good measure, added "or I'm leaving your pathetic ass here." Lavi complied happily, hopping into the passenger seat and fastening his seat-belt.

"Does this mean you're coming to the club?" The redhead inquired enthusiastically.

"Yeah, whatever," the other groaned, backing out of the lot.

"Sweet! I told Lenalee we'd be at her place to pick her up an hour from now, that alright?" Lavi asked, chuckling. Beyond the point of caring, Kanda grunted a reply, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him.

When the pair reached Kanda's apartment, the swordsman stalked inside and immediately disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Lavi to entertain himself while the other showered and dressed.

A grand total of seven and a half minutes later, Kanda emerged from the shower, hair sopping wet and dripping water all over the hardwood floor, a navy blue towel secured at his hips.

To Lavi's great pleasure, a short walk through the living room separated Kanda's bedroom from the bathroom at the end of the hall. The redhead shamelessly ogled Kanda as he made his way across the room, drinking in the contours of the swordsman's chiseled abdominal muscles and the way beads of water slipped down the man's chest and back as he walked.

"Che."

* * *

"Remind me what I'm doing going with you to this club again," Kanda grumbled, turning the following corner at a speed ten miles above what Lavi would have attempted it at.

"Augh! Take it easy will you?" The redhead exclaimed, grabbing hold of the sides of the seat. "And you're coming to the club, because I found a guy who's just your type and you need to let loose a little."

"This is a damn waste of my time, you know that? And you're still paying my tab."

"Of course," Lavi replied as they pulled up into the Lees' driveway. Grinning like an idiot, Lavi climbed out of the glossy, black car and jogged up to the door, knocking three times and waiting for the gentle sound of Lenalee's footsteps from within the house.

Her bell like voice echoed down the stairs from the second story, "just a minute!" Thirty seconds later, the door swung open to reveal a smiling Lenealee, dressed in a draped, floral-print pencil skirt; black, spaghetti-strap blouse; neon-blue, Chinese Laundry wedges; and faded, denim jacket, carrying a Michael Kors, patent leather clutch.

Not once, but twice, Lavi looked her over, finally managing a "you look fantastic," as he opened the car door for her and placed a quick peck on her lips. Blushing, she slid into the back seat, and Lavi dashed around the car to climb back into the passenger seat.

The drive to the club from Lenalee's house was very short, but of course no one with any sort of a good intention would have let her walk alone at night.

The three arrived at the club close to ten thirty—of course, this was early for a city that never slept—and made their way up the bustling street. Not surprisingly, a line stretched all the way down the block. This did not dismay the redheaded man, however, who proceeded to walk directly up to the bouncers.

"Hey Marie," Lavi greeted. "Allen in tonight?"

"Yeah," he walked in not ten minutes ago," the taller guard replied. "He was wondering when you'd finally show up," Marie laughed, allowing them to pass.

"Allen's the owner of this place," Lavi explained, turning to Lenalee and Kanda. "Oh look, wha'dya know! Hey, Allen!" Lavi's eyes locked on a petite, silver-haired boy dancing near the center of the floor. Spotting the head of bright red hair and the small girl standing next to the redhead, the boy sauntered over, a sexy smirk on his handsome face. "Got someone I want ya to meet," Lavi grinned. "Allen, this is Kanda. Kanda, this is the guy I was telling you about." Kanda stood in silence for a moment before offering his hand, which the younger took with a wide smile.

"Loosen up a little," the white-haired boy laughed with a smile, striding up to the bar, Kanda following behind. Lenalee and Lavi had disappeared into the ocean of people on the dance floor. "How about a drink? It's on the house." Kanda scoffed a little; the damn redhead had figured Allen into the entire equation pretty nicely.

"What can I get'cha?" A handsome bartender asked, flashing a smile at Kanda, who narrowed his eyes in response.

"Something strong," the swordsman muttered.

"You a whiskey guy?"

"On occasion," Kanda answered.

"Alright," the bartender returned. "One bourbon on the rocks."

With a smile, the bartender slid the drink across the counter and then quickly spun around to take more orders from the other side, and Allen took a seat at the bar next to the Japanese man.

"You don't seem like the type who goes to clubs often," the younger mused.

"That's because I don't," Kanda grumbled back.

"So what persuaded you to come in tonight?"

"The damn Usagi dragged me here."

"Usagi?"

"The redhead," Kanda grunted, downing the remaining bourbon.

"Oh, I see," Allen chuckled. "Feel like dancing, swordsman?"

"How do you know that?" Kanda growled. "And no."

"Oh, Lavi told me a few things about you too," the other replied casually. "Need another drink then?"

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, from what I understand," Allen began, leaning in towards the other man. "You hold your liquor well. I'm interested to see if you can beat me."

"You're on, Moyashi," Kanda shot back with a smirk.

"Moyashi?"

"It means beansprout."

"Hey! I'm not a beansprout!" Allen shouted.

"We'll see about that," the swordsman returned.

"Hey, Daisya!"

"What can I do for you, Allen?" The bartender from earlier asked.  
"Two shots of vodka," the white-haired man replied.

A very serious look spreading over his face, Daisya turned to Kanda. "Please don't tell me you two are going to have a drinking contest…"

"That," Allen said, grinning. "Is exactly what we're going to do."

"Well," Daisya sighed, turning back to the swordsman. "It was nice knowing ya…"

Halfway through their drinking game, Allen proposed dancing again.

Four shots found Kanda not drunk, but much more relaxed than he had been when he had entered the club, and this time, he found himself accepting Allen's offer to dance. True to Daisya's word, the white-haired man didn't even seem slightly intoxicated as he pulled his raven-haired partner out into the sea of bodies moving to the contagious beat.

Halfway through the night, Lavi spotted a head of white hair pulling the swordsman out the door and hailing down a taxi, and the redhead grinned brightly.

"What?" Came Lenalee's small, breathy voice.

"Looks like Yuu's heading home."

"I don't get it," the Chinese girl replied.

"Allen's with him." When Lavi's words sunk in, Lenalee's ruby-red lips stretched into huge smile.

"See, told you it was a great idea, didn't I?" The petite girl giggled with a wink.

"Oh yeah…" Lavi replied, drawing even closer to the dark-haired girl.

"Hey Lavi," Lenalee grinned.

"Yes, beautiful," the redhead responded.

"I think you should drive Kanda's car home for him. And then drop the keys off. Tomorrow morning." Lavi stared down at the wickedly grinning girl pressed against him.

"You're brilliant."

* * *

Seven long wraps sounded at Kanda's door.

"God damn Usagi, fucking waking me up—it's too damn early—oh shit…"

"Hey Kanda!" Lavi exclaimed, bursting through the swordsman's bedroom door. "I brought your car home for you!" Much to Lavi's joy and Kanda's utter terror, a certain white-haired, petite boy stirred from his sleep, propping himself up on one arm—the crimson sheet slipping halfway down his body— and rubbing his eyes with the other hand.

"Mmm, Kanda?" Came Allen's soft voice.

"Out! Now, Usagi!"

"Okayherearethekeysnowbye!" The redhead hollered, dropping the keys and leaping out the door.

"Good morning," Allen smiled up at him.

"Fucking good morning my ass."

* * *

Just barely finished this one in time... Phew!


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Mortal

Pairing: Yullen

Rating: T

Day: 6

Theme: Only Human

* * *

I watched as the bodies piled up around us, mostly men, some women, some children—the sad truth about war. Even through the billowing clouds of smoke and dust and ash, on the very edge of my vision, every few moments, I'd catch a glimpse white hair as he continued in the unending dance of battle. Enemy after gruesome enemy, wound after bleeding wound, bones and ligaments broke and tore, and amidst all of his own physical pain, I knew the tears that spilled endlessly from his eyes were only for the chained, tortured akuma souls and the bodies of ingenuous people that paved the ground below. His body probably wasn't functional anymore, just a vessel, held together by the sinful will of Innocence and the sadism of the Fourteenth.

And after the unending stream of akuma finally dwindled, the Noah made their appearance, strutting down a stage of bodies as if the right to live was theirs alone. Not one of them ventured in Allen's direction, heavily bleeding and broken as he was. The Noah of Pleasure appeared before me, and the girl, Kamelot, engaged Lenalee.

Blood spilled, much of my own, painting a great map below us, his footfalls and mine, over the faces and arms and legs and chests, backs, feet, and hands of the dead. Tyki spoke many words in the beginning, but as the intricate pattern wove on, his lips served only to accommodate the shallow, dust filled breaths that rushed passed them.

Between strokes, I caught an image of Jasdevi falling to fangs, puppets, and strings. Drained of blood, the mangled body collapsed to the ground below, hair bleeding into the corpses below so that thirty seconds later when I looked back, my eyes could no longer distinguish Noah from civilian.

A black tease darted passed my blade, a reminder that my battle hadn't been the one my eyes, so longingly found.

Gradually, cuts and bruises accumulated on the dark-haired man's body, running all the way up both his forearms, some landing across his ribs, others flourishing on his legs. Never his back. They, despite all their advantages and abilities, were mortal too.

Across the way, through a curtain of my own loose hair, I followed Lenalee's lithe body as it collapsed into the sea of faces below, only to resurface once again, driving through with speed that I would never have. Her small feet bounded across the remains of the living, and she launched herself at the other, the heel of her dark boots landing on target and sending Road tumbling across the ground like a ragdoll.

Less and less of my blade found its target, because even my abilities had their limits.

In between dodging another blow, I glimpsed the crimson of flames devouring a screaming Lulubell, before Tyki's left hand slipped around Mugen to leave a deep gash in my side. Third illusion invoked, the wound would not close up, though my blood still replenished, allowing me to continue.

Klaud busied herself, lopping off some of Sheryl's dark tresses as he attempted to gain ground in their fight.

And then the Earl descended.

Cackling pink umbrella in hand, that repulsively obese body landed upon the highest mound of corpses and immediately began the descent to a panting, heavily bleeding Allen.

I watched as the boy—he was only a boy…barely seventeen—abandoned—deserted—his childhood soiled by war, death, lies, and the pitiful screaming of the damned souls in the night—invoked his innocence again, wielding the blade with insurmountable strength, from what muscles I know not, for every ligament in his body, I figured, had either been cut or was close to tearing away from the bone beneath. Their swords darted back and forth, tossed and thrown as if they were no more than daggers. A heavy stroke from Allen's Innocence rendered the Earl off balance and sent the man to the ground, but no sooner had the boy begun his next stroke, the Earl, as if he weight nothing at all, leapt to his feet, and once again took up his sword with both hands, landing a blow to Allen's right side.

The boy staggered back, drawing his sword hand against his broken ribs, weapon held high behind his body. It was then that I finally cut down the body in front of me, watching as the man's blood stained the white gown of a dead bride crimson.

My feet carried me without thought, drawing me up to the boy's side just in time to catch the smaller as he very nearly toppled town the mountain of bodies. His eyes met mine for a brief moment before my arms left him and the Earl was upon him once again, slashing with desperate rage.

I watched as Allen's Crown Clown sunk all the way through the Earl's body, bloody silver emerging on the other side, and I glimpsed the man inside the suit, the true face of the Earl.

And then it was over.

Allen's small form collapsed to the ground below, Innocence returning to his body in the form of a blackened arm. Mugen slipped from my fingertips as my knees hit the ground beside him.

Despite it all, the boy wore a smile, and not even a fake one at that. His eyes, turned up at the sides gazed into mine as tears slipped from their corners.

"Kanda, did you ever love me?" He asked, voice barely there.

"No," I lied.

He smiled.

"Thank you Kanda," he whispered, before his eyelids fell closed.

And yeah: I lied, because—really—what was I supposed to do?

* * *

Yeah... So I was rushing to finish that one before I went out...


	9. Un Bel Di

Phew! Finished it in time!

Aright, bunnies! Here's my final submission for Yullen week 2012!

* * *

Title: Un Bel Di

Pairing: Yullen

Day: 7

Theme: Coming home

Rating: T

Words: 2,143

'Hi, Lenalee. It's Allen.' The cursor flickers on an otherwise blank page, and the young, silver-haired man in the desk chair lets out the breath he has been holding, deleting the entire sentence so that the perfectly blank page stares right back at him.

"Why?" He mouths, brows knitting into a tight v. "Why can't you just write yourself for once?" Naturally, the screen does not reply, so—not without a guilty conscience—Allen pulls up the Facebook homepage, logs in, and begins scrolling through pictures of cats. Yes, cats. Cats in sweaters and cats eating 'cheezburgerz' and cats rolling in Styrofoam packaging and cats on the counter and sitting on the head of some blonde lady who looks a lot like a female version of Lavi…if that makes any sense. And then, deciding it makes no sense and that he has wasted quite enough time, the man closes the tab and resumes his perpetual staring contest with the blank text box.

'Hi, Lenalee. It's Allen.' _Oh, you are a brilliant man, Allen Walker_.

And then something most likely very large and definitely very breakable collides with floor in the room adjacent to him and Allen is fairly sure he knows why that something fell and what that something was and _exactly_ how long that something is going to take to clean up…

In the theatre of Allen's mind: "I'm sorry, Allen. I accidentally bumped into the bookcase and broke your flower pot. Please, let me help you replant your African Violets in another pot and sweep up this mess before I return to my sleep," his raven-haired lover offers, gently brushing the broken glass from the flowers' roots and tenderly scooping the organism into his callused hands.

Allen smiles weakly. "That's alright, Kanda. I'm just glad you're okay," the younger returns, placing a kiss on his lover's silken lips.

A very tired, very murderous voice rips poor Allen away from his delusional fantasy. "Moyashi. I fucking told you to put the damn plant on the floor."

Allen groans, "why now," just as a lot of very dark, very wet hair appears in his view. If it was just hair—just a floating head of hair—_African Violets—forget it. Forget it. Forget it. Please go away. Not now. Not ever—okay, come back. In like… an hour. Maybe? _

Allen flashes Kanda a very distressed, very pathetic look, before returning to the—really impossible—task of asking his boss for the day off; Kanda is sick, and Allen doesn't want to leave the man alone in the house...especially given the way the last five minutes has played out.

"What the hell are you doing," the man's dark-haired lover mutters, skulking out into the sitting-room-turned-massive-secret-agent-style-office.

"Emailing Lenalee to see if I can use one of my sick days to take care—"

"Go to work."

"But you're—"

"Not going to die within the next fucking hour. Have a fabulous day," the swordsman grumbles, shoving Allen out the door and tossing the younger his keys and wallet. It's then that Allen remembers the broken flower pot, but, seeing as he is already thirty seconds late (locked out of the house), he takes the elevator down to the first floor and heads off to work.

The traffic this morning is ridiculously heavy, and Allen finds himself finally dashing into the lab thirty minutes late. He pulls open the department door slowly, peeking one eye around the steel door and scanning the room for any sign of human life. When he finds none, the white-haired man slips in carefully, closing the door behind him with all manner of anxiety-induced care.

"You're late," Lenalee deadpans, crossing her slender arms over her chest. This is exactly what Allen had been meaning to avoid.

"Ah, sorry," the man mumbles, running his fingers through his messy hair and smiling sheepishly. Lenalee is almost like a sister to him, so she'll probably understand if he explains the situation. "Kanda got really sick yesterday, so I was going to email you to see if I could take the day off, but he shoved me out the door and threw the car keys into my face." Exaggerating a little for the sake of humor never hurt… Thankfully, the story accomplishes its purpose; the Chinese woman breaks into laughter, lips stretched into a wide smile.

"Alright, alright. Don't get your panties in a wad; I won't tell my brother. Just get the analysis in fast. We're short-staffed because Reever and Johnny are out. Probably the same thing Kanda's got." Allen retrieves his lab coat from the closet and slips on a pair of disposable, blue, latex gloves.

"What've we got today?" Allen sighs, entering the lab.

"Old guy. Nothing suspicious. Just dead in his own home. Daughter found him this morning."

"Diabetic?"

"Nope." The man looks approximately eighty years old.

"History of heart failure?"

"Not that we know of."

The autopsy is the easy part. A major blood vessel near the man's heart is clearly obstructed by plaque.

More time consuming is the write up, which is going to take Allen the rest of the work day. Yes. Six hours. In a desk chair. Writing about an old guy, whose cause of death is nothing short of banal—cardiac arrest—plain and boring.

Lavi waltzes in, clearly exited.  
"Got another one, probably murdered!"

"I don't understand how you can sound so happy saying that," Allen mumbles, saving his progress and grabbing another pair of gloves from bottom drawer of his desk. Allen doesn't particularly enjoy working with dead bodies, not like Lavi does; he just likes being able to give people honest answers about their loved ones' deaths… Since he never really got one himself…

"Do we have an identity on the victim?" Allen asks, following Lavi back into the lab.

"Actually, we got that one pretty easy. Killer left her face pristine, and the girl's been missing since yesterday," Lavi explains. "Her name's Claire Everstine. Born in Sicily on July third nineteen ninty-six. Sixteen, junior in high school. No boyfriend, according to her parents, and none of her friends were with her when she went out."

"Have we identified the weapon yet?"The white-haired man inquires. Lavi's emerald eye meets his as the redhead shrugs.

"As of right now, we've got no idea. Wound's all jagged and weird, not to mention awkward. Looks like it was done pretty fast, but someone cut all the way around her leg."

"Brilliant." These are the cases Allen hates the most, the ones where the victims are young, beautiful, and mangled.

When the cadaver comes into view, Allen nearly has a heart attack. Long, blue-black hair spills over the edge of the examining table, running all the way up to frame a pale face. Her build is long, lean, and angular. Altogether, the body on the table looks terrifyingly similar to someone he knows very, very well.

Finally drawing close enough to get a good view of her face, Allen releases the breath he's been holding, and Lavi claps him on the table, chuckling a little.

"Sorry about that," the red-haired man simpers. "I couldn't resist."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Allen sighs, releasing the tension in his forehead. At least the girl's face looks nothing like Kanda's. Her features are obviously European. Light green eyes, fair skin, an upturned nose, a rounded jaw, and full lips.

Sometimes Allen wishes he could hit Lavi upside the head with a heavy book, but the boy figures his day is going to be long enough as is and taking out another working body probably won't help his situation any.

Despite their obvious differences in temperament, Lavi and Allen actually make quite an efficient team. By four pm, they've made good headway in the Everstine case, and, his portion done, Allen returns to the cardiac arrest.

Tossing his gloves unceremoniously into the waste basket, the man plops back into his desk chair and begins typing furiously.

Allen's office has no windows, and he won't permit himself to look at the clock when he's working, fearing that despair shall ensue if he does. In all honesty, Allen's internal clock is alarmingly accurate, and right now, it's telling him that it'll be eleven o'clock pm in t minus twelve minutes.

At long last, after writing and editing and jumping through all the hoops and entering all the data, Allen prints the document, listening intently to the blessed song of the printer as it sucks the paper up and spits the finished report back out. He then slips out of the office and into the darkened lab, tosses his lab coat in the hamper—bless the people who launder them—slides his write-up into Komui's drop-box, tugs on his leather jacket, and steps out into the chilly parking lot.

As he reaches his car, Allen begins fishing through his pockets for his keys, only to remember that he had left them in the pocket of his lab coat. Which is now in the locked building. And his key to the office? Attached to the car keys, where else?

Pulling out his wallet, the white-haired man wishes with all his might that it contains enough bills for a cab. Oh, right. Kanda had raided his wallet the previous night and mooched all his boyfriend's cash off him. Groaning in frustration, Allen closes the wallet and swaps it out for his smart phone.

Sharing a building with the investigation force had many advantages, one of them being that the detectives and researchers usually stayed _very _late and could most likely let the boy back into the building if he gave them a ring.

So, Allen dials the number to the front office of the department, only to have the call disconnect on the first ring. Allen pulls the phone back to inspect it, and, after pressing a few buttons, determines that the device has died. Oh, that's right. When he'd come home last night, Allen found Kanda sick and, amid trying to help the man in any way he could, forgot to plug in his cellphone.

Brilliant. Just brilliant. Komui'll have his keys in the morning, Allen figures.

Thankfully, Allen's wallet does contain a bus pass…

So, at one twenty-three in the morning, Allen finally stumbles to the off-white door of apartment 714, starving, exhausted, and freezing, and reaches for his keys. Oh, wait. That's right…no keys.

Dreading what he is about to do and praying to any god that will listen that his life will not end now—he's only twenty-three for heaven's sake!—Allen raises his fist to the door and knocks once—just once! And lightly! Oh, so lightly; Kanda isn't a heavy sleeper. Not at all.

The door swings open.

"You just gonna stand there like an idiot while I wait?"

"Sorry," Allen mumbles, entering their apartment and heading straight for the fridge. He opens the door and discovers several cartons of Chinese take-out on the fourth shelf…several cartons that were not there this morning.

"Kanda, did you order take-out?" Kanda isn't particularly fond of Chinese food, nor does he have a terribly large appetite.

"Fo brought some over this afternoon," the swordsman replies, collapsing onto the couch. More than a little confused that his own body is not already on one of the tables in the autopsy lab, Allen raises an eyebrow at the dark-haired man, who has already gone back to sleep.

The white-haired man doesn't bother heating the food up, and he really doesn't want to chance his luck with the noisy microwave. That might be pushing it… He grabs a pair of bamboo chopsticks from the drawer next to the fridge, balances all six cartons in one arm, and makes to sit down at the table, but stops halfway there.

There, on the table, in the center of a piece of newspaper, surrounded by empty bottles of crazy glue, is the flowerpot. It was an ugly container to begin with and it certainly doesn't look any better now, but the pot had been his fathers—Mana's—and it is once again whole. Beside it, the African Violets smile up at him from their makeshift-zip-lock-baggie-home.

After finishing his dinner, Allen takes a peek into the bedroom. Yep, there's still potting soil _all over_ the floor_. Oh well, it doesn't really matter. _

Quietly, Allen tiptoes back into the living room, lifts the sleeping swordsman into his arms, carries him back to bed, and turns out the lights. He climbs into bed.

"Thank you, Yuu," Allen whispers.

"God damn it, go to sleep already," an angry voice replies. Laughing silently, Allen leans down to place a sweet, gentle kiss on Kanda's lips.

"I love you, BaKanda."

"Love you too, damn sprout. Now go to sleep." Allen lies down, sinking into a beautiful dream where Kanda actually cleans up the potting soil as well.

* * *

Happy New Years, minna-sama!

Love you all! XOXOXOXOXOX

~Sophia


End file.
